200 Years Away (The Ghost & Mrs Muir Version)
by Daryl Wor
Summary: Whoops! Looks like Capt. Gregg & Mrs. Muir made it into this one, too! It's a series of Happily Ever After vignettes for how "The Pit of Ultimate Dark Shadows" will hopefully turn out. Plus I like giving The Ghost & Mrs. Muir another story. For the time being there are more stories for this than Dark Shadows and I'd love to see it kept that way. Please R&R.
1. Chapter 1: 200 Years Away

This is an old sea-shanty that got stuck in my head during my 11th episode of "The Pit of Ultimate Dark Shadows". It's based on the song "200 Miles Away." My spouse loved it, but when I saw the dark ending that episode had, I removed it as the ending credits song, to his dismay. :(

As with many songs of olde, they tend get re-worked like this, and often did in those days as well, so the alteration of Mag and Lag (as opposed to Meg and Leg) rhyme fits, especially with the way of old sea-dogs and their habit of muddling words to fit a rhyme. **Or** "Lag" could be seen as "Lagging", i.e. a large gap of years wherein a problem didn't get resolved. Similar metaphor with "sea", as perhaps a "sea of time".

_200 Years Away_

_Ho! for a brave and gallant ship_  
_An' a fast and fav'rin breeze_  
_With a bully crew an a CAPTAIN too_  
_To carry me over the seas;_  
_To carry me over the seas, me boys,_  
_To me true love far away,_  
_I'm takin' a trip on a spiritual ship_  
_Two-hundred years away._

_Then blow ye winds hi-ho!_  
_An' a rovin' I will go._  
_I'll pretend no more about England's shore_  
_to hear the music play._  
_I'm off for the State of Maine,_  
_and I won't be back again._  
_For I'm on the move to me own true love,_  
_Two-hundred years away._

_My true-love she is beautiful, _  
_my true-love she is young,_  
_But she'd taken a trip on a spiritual ship_  
_Out to Penobscot Bay_  
_Out to Penobscot Bay, me boys,_  
_And though she's far away._  
_I'll never forget me own true love_  
_Two-hundred years away._

_Then blow ye winds hi-ho!_  
_An' a rovin' I will go._  
_I'll pretend no more about England's shore_  
_to hear the music play._  
_I'm off to the State of Maine,_  
_and I won't be back again._  
_For I'm on the move to me own true love,_  
_Two-hundred years away._

_It was was a misty evening,_  
_When last I had seen me Mag,_  
_She'd a spiritual band around each hand_  
_and another one around her lag;_  
_and another one around her lag, m'boys_  
_as she jumped into the bay_  
_"Adieu" she said, "Remember me"_  
_Two-hundred years away._

_Then blow ye winds hi-ho!_  
_An' a rovin' I will go._  
_I'll pretend no more about England's shore_  
_to hear the music play._  
_I'm off for the State of Maine,_  
_and I won't be back again._  
_For I'm on the move to me own true love,_  
_Two-hundred years away._

_I wish I was a boatswain bold_  
_Or a seaman without fear._  
_I'd man a boat and away I'd float,_  
_An' strait to me true love steer;_  
_An' strait to me true love steer, m'boys,_  
_Where the whales and dolphins play._  
_Where the whales and sharks are having their larks_  
_Two-hundred years away._

_Then blow ye winds hi-ho!_  
_An' a rovin' I will go._  
_I'll pretend no more about England's shore_  
_to hear the music play._  
_I'm off for the State of Maine,_  
_and I won't be back again._  
_For I'm on the move to me own true love,_  
_Two-hundred years away._

Feel free to review, I know it's a short piece. (And for anyone who liked "Pit", please click the author's name to check out the profile there. I discovered that in the profile, website links ARE allowed. There is currently a podcast version of that story on Archive & The Audio Fan Fiction Library. It'll respond a little odd, but if you have google chrome it will open another tab... Learn somethin' new everyday, I guess!)


	2. Chapter 2: A Day In The 1960's

_This chapter shows Barnabas Collins and Margaret Josette Dupres discussing difficulties in remembering how much has happened since they've been married and reflecting on how their problems were solved._

_I did an extensive amount of research in re-carnation hypnosis and it's startling results. Dr. Ian Stevenson was getting his start around the time Dark Shadows was already a staple of many homes so it culminated well in all of my stories._

_I also put this together on the trouble with the lack of gaining reviews from my many readers. The mentality in this new age of device technology and obliviousness to the human needs of fan fiction writers struck a chord when my spouse read our usual Q and A columns one weekend._

_And I had also tested my audience here on Friday the 13th of December 2013 to see if they could understand the necessity for reviewing by posting episode 15 of "The Pit of Ultimate Dark Shadows" and expressing why positive feedback was so important._

_This attempt failed, of course._

_However my being infuriated that an audience of readers could be so aloof and uncaring was coupled with the fact that I'd gotten the harsh news about the death of a dear friend. And I was not in any way informed kindly of his death. It was done with a lot of hostility. So I dedicated this story to him considering the lack of human touch displayed in modern times and especially online._

**"A Day In The 1960's"**

_Dedicated to the memory of my dear friend Rich, who passed away December 4th 2013_

I do see. There are a number of missing pages. Perhaps our archivist knows wherein they've gone? Haven't seen her much lately. She's been investigating other necessities with dear Victoria, who of course, always was a member of this family. The two do spend much time engrossed in the details of this estate. How it does give me peace of mind. Perhaps they're both looking over the finer points and seeing which are too explicit, possibly, for this release. Ah well.

"Darling," says my Josette returned, "they could be making prints of them."

"By hand? Or that other invention?"

"Yes," she answers, "isn't it peculiar that the man who invented xerography left so much in the way of funding to promote the work in the study of reincarnation?"

"Why is that?" I ask.

"Well, one would think that a man with such an invention would have left money to… well… cloning or something of that nature."

Ah, now that I understand these things. I can see what she means. I've only _perused_ the essay of Dr. Ian Stevenson's "The Evidence for Survival from Claimed Memories of Former Incarnations". Apparently his work is something we too, must be grateful for.

"Of course," she continues, "I _must_ be grateful not to feel the need to hold anymore Tea Dances for the time being."

I need cast toward Her a deeply knowing tone, "Kitty…"

"Oui?" she answers, trying to confuse me. I have to laugh a little at this. As our archivist has told us, in the time she comes from, many people have several different names. Any confusion to my dearest, whom I still voice as a bride, it's simply more romantic, is relegated to an ease of comfort when all comes to surface in the truth. It took a lot for us to reach this point of bliss. Three incarnations to reach me… wasn't it obvious to anyone what was to be? It was to me as I went through time and experienced it. But still, we do have certain parapsychologists to bless for all of this.

And I'm glad to hear of this Dr. Stevenson and his work. It looks as if it will be a long series of investigations for him. And he never reveals his findings to be the proof, simply evidence. Of course, this is all well and in order for me… as I… have _my_ proof. And our journals, which could be disclosed except that there are several pages missing right now… or it could be our archivist is keeping them to herself. And I wouldn't blame her. They are rather heavy going. And I must admit, difficult to pen. My hand shakes even now over the details.

"We can't remember where the bathtub was," speaks my lady, "I want to say it was brought into my room, but maybe that extension had been adjoined to my room at the time. Can't you remember, Barnabas?"

"No, Josette, I cannot. I only remember…" I falter.

"Oh," she smiles, speaking lowly, "it _was_… rather… "

"Yes… "

"And…" she breathes.

"When I… ?" I whisper in her ear.

"Hmm," she begins, "yes. Might… we?"

"Yes, my love," I tell her, "Let us… go… upstairs."

…*…*…*

When Victoria and I arrived at The Old House, we called up the stairs, then noticed our couple were beyond busy… presumably, considering what we over heard. Ahem!

"Hmm," she said, "let's sit outside and read that newspaper you brought."

"Good idea," I agreed quickly, it'll likely be a _while_."

We found a decent spot on a bricked garden planter a fair distance away from any noise. Victoria rattled open the paper and sniffed, "Oh… my…"

"What is it?" I asked.

"Looks like we just can't get away from the subject," she laughed.

[ribald details omitted]

"Well, I'm with you there, Vicky. Still whatever floats ones boat, I suppose."

After calming down more we looked over the etiquette columnist. Perhaps that would bring more sobriety out from our shared hilarity. She read the query:

_"Dear Agony Aunt: Let me begin with the worst of it (You would well be advised to brace yourself). I am 19 and have not written thank-you notes for holidays and birthdays for about two years now._

_I'd like to make amends with my family members who sent me nice gifts that I didn't thank them properly for, but I'm not exactly sure what the right course of action is at this point. Do I just send out thank-yous for the gifts I received this year and try not to draw explicit attention to how remiss I have been in my correspondence? Can I apologize for not sending thank-you notes in the past?_

_I'd like to acknowledge what they sent me before, but I'm sure I've forgotten some of the things I've received (which is horrible), and I don't want to make it sound like I'm ungrateful by omitting them. I also don't want to make it sound like I'm asking for gifts in the future or try to furnish excuses (I don't have any)._

_I really just want to apologize, express my gratitude and move on, but I'm struggling to figure out how to do that."_

Victoria stopped to reflect and then looked at me, "You know, this is all sounding a little familiar."

I sighed, "Victoria, what doesn't seem familiar around this estate?"

"True," she said, "but what I mean is, you and I have been doing a lot of work trying to get these memoirs accurate. On my end people are pretty grateful and help a lot, but it sounds like in the future you come from they don't know how to tell you."

"Okay," I said, "that's correct. Maybe the columnist has some good advice. What's the response?"

Victoria cleared her throat and began, _"Dear 19: You are not the worst. The worst are ingrates who, far from being repentant, try to cast blame on their benefactors for being so selfish as to expect any response to their generosity. In fact, your relatives have been especially generous in continuing to send you presents in the absence of responses."_

"Ah," I said, "that's a good point. I've definitely had people angry at me, mostly when I've shown alarm at their ruining my belongings."

"What?" she asked.

"Oh, a little desk, a pair of headphones… Long stories," I sighed, "Keep reading."

She continued:

_"Still, your record is pretty bad, and I am gratified that you are ready to make amends. You are, I presume, prepared to grovel."_

"Goodness!" I marveled, then reflected, "well, that's likely a facetious statement."

Victoria winked and read on:

_"Your letters should begin with enthusiastic thanks for the latest presents, then go into high praise for their past kindness. For the past presents that you can recall, write specifically about how you have been enjoying them all this time._

_Then comes the self-flagellation. The important part is to refrain from offering any excuses. Claiming to have been busy, even with examples of the demands upon you, only annoys people. It prompts them to reflect that they, too, were busy, but made time to send you presents._

_Rather, it should be about how ashamed you are not to have acknowledged their warmth and consideration, which means so much to you. I understand that this seems a grim task. But I promise that you will feel better afterward."_

Victoria folded the newspaper and rested it between us on the planter. We stared into the woods, and listened to the waves nearby for a minute.

"Why is it so hard for your people to talk to each other?" she asked me, "I mean, you said there are all these wonders in the future that make it so simple to communicate, once you have the knack of using the tools."

"Well," I replied, "we don't all want to bother with learning how to use the tools for one thing."

She was stunned, "But why not? They can do so much good!"

"It's often been a puzzle to me, Victoria. I took the time to finally learn how to communicate with people better, but by that time no one seemed to want to talk to each other anymore."

"I can't imagine a world like that. With everything going on in _this_ day and age, it sounds like it's just going to get worse."

"No, Vicky," I said, "it does get better in many ways. But it is very lonely and aloof much of the time. Everything people are doing in your time period to make the world better gets rather taken for granted in my generation. The nice thing is less people are apt to be outright rude _and_ in detail, but we haven't yet found the way to tell each other what's good about one another specifically. Especially, " I had to heave a sigh here, "my own spouse. He reads books like he drinks water, but even he has a hard time really explaining what he likes exactly. I have to catch him laughing and then be sure to ask him before he forgets."

"Yes," she smiled, "I suppose it's much easier to hear it from someone in person. But from what you've told me, everyone is mostly using machines to connect and… in all of that time… well, they're not really connected at all. Those telephones you talk about sound awful, all static and no warmth?"

"Ah," I answered, "it's not just static, a lot of the words and sounds cut out. It's really muffled. I get the impression the people using them just pretend they can hear what each other are saying."

Victoria gave a laugh through her nose, "Sounds like how this place used to be."

"I know," I told her, "Still… I have hope. There is an intense amount of brevity, but perhaps I haven't found the right people yet to really tell our story to. It takes all kinds to make a world. Someone, quite a few people, I believe, are out there who want it and who want to discuss it and share what they enjoy about it."

"But," she asked, confused, "why do you want to stay here with us? At Collinwood?"

"I want to see it through," I told her, "everything needs to be patched up and I need to find the way to describe it clearly."

"That's very sweet. Although… aren't there people in that future, in 2014, that you miss and that you love?"

"Quite a few," I confessed, "but they're scattered all over the country and some even across the pond, as they say. And they rarely make much of an effort to spend time using all those new inventions to let me know in return. So now, it's you and me, and these archives."

She looked to me, slowly smiling, "I understand."


	3. Chapter 3 (From Wadsworth's View)

_I believe this fun chapter from my vignettes of an already married Barnabas is clean enough to share with the T rated audience. It's written from Wadsworth's perspective in relation with "The Pit of Ultimate Dark Shadows", and deals with the awkwardness of overhearing a very happy couple. _

_I'm not too worried about giving away plans with that story as I've often reflected a good story still remains interesting even if one knows the outcome._

_However! That being said, I have *one* exception: "Pride and Prejudice" by Jane Austen. If one doesn't know how all *that* story comes about, please don't tell them! It really is a magnificent story that can truly be spoiled if too much is given away._

_Until then, I'll just have to keep wondering what my readers reactions are to all of these chapters can be. It's all rather ominous not knowing and always wondering. :S_

.*.*.*.*.*.*

Chapter _: Other Reactions

As you likely know, considering the long wait my employer, Barnabas Collins, has had in winning the heart of our mademoiselle, there has been much… erm… vigorous activity at The Old House. When Mr. Loomis and I first heard the racket we were certain it was more belated relatives come to haunt the premises. Then we heard what we were sure were voices we already knew… in ways we hadn't quite heard them before.

We listened at the stairs and then had some blemishing to do ourselves. I stepped to the door, intending to explore the old shed Ben Stokes of long ago had left in apt condition.

"Mr. Loomis," I said, "do you recall how to play Backgammon?"

He quickly followed me with the embarrassed but eager words, "I dunno and I don't care. Just show me how, an' I'll get the jist of it soon enough."

So, one can imagine that he's become quite proficient at the game of Backgammon what with all of the new ruckus going on lately.

One evening, the good doctor stepped toward us as we had just exited the front doors.

"Where are you two off to?" She asked, not so interrogatory as in previous years, though seeing our faces, she did have a more stolid curiousity than usual.

"Well, Doctor Hoffman," Mr. Loomis stammered, "we've been takin' to playin' a lot of Backgammon in the old shed lately and were just going off there again. Want to, um… well, join us?"

"No, thank you, " she answered, "I wanted to see—"

"Oh, well," I interrupted, blocking the door. She interposed that familiar look of suspicion I'd gotten so used to in earlier days, "I don't think now is the best time."

"Oh?" she asked, lengthening the word, "what are you two hiding from me?"

"Heh! Nothing," said Mr. Loomis, "it's more like what we're hiding out from!"

"Well," she asked, "there is something that's unnerved you two and I aim to…"

That was when a sharp cry came from an upstairs window.

"What in heavens was THAT?" she demanded.

"Well… ya… ya see, Doctor Hoffman," answered Mr. Loomis, "they're kind of busy."

"What? Have those two got some poor victim up there or something? Who are they after?"

"Each other," I said, at last.

"Oh… oh? Oh!" said our doctor, "oh, good lord… AGAIN?"

"Yep!" nodded Mr. Loomis.

Doctor Hoffman sighed in exasperation, "I know it's been a long time for him but this is _ridiculous!_ When are they going to leave each other alone?"

"Heh," laughed Mr. Loomis, "maybe we should purchase some cows so they can come home."

Doctor Hoffman scoffed, "Sheesh! And I thought the Professor was repressed the way he's been pawing ME! Not that I mind… wait… forget I said that."

"We WILL," I answered, "besides, Mr. Collins isn't the one who's always making the advances."

"You mean… it's HER? Is she trying to _wreck_ the old man or what? I must say I'm thankful that I'm NOT a gynecologist!"

"A what?" Mr. Loomis inquired, not hearing.

"It doesn't matter," Doctor Hoffman exhaled, "Still, why always at night? If they're worried about getting sunburned in their immortal condition or something why not do this kind of thing during the day?"

"The cellar isn't exactly the most romantic place in the world… especially for her." I answered.

"Tell me about it!" Mr. Loomis echoed the sentiment.

"Well, can't they get lead curtains or something?" she suggested, impatiently.

"Oh, yes, Madam," I said, "I've already ordered those."

"Good! I hope David hasn't been over to hear any of that noise." She stated.

"Well," Mr. Loomis chuckled, "he just thought they was jumping around on the furniture and I have to tell ya, I wasn't about to correct the fella."

"Trust you for that, Willie!" said the doctor, "I just don't understand where she's gets such an appetite for all of it."

"Perhaps because she's young?" I suggested.

"P'sh!" she responded, "or it's her previous life as a man getting mixed up with her feminine desire and taking a sky rocket through exploration."

"Are you going to prescribe a sedative?" I asked, which was likely more sarcastic than I meant to say it.

"Hardly," she answered, annoyed, "they have GOT to run out of steam on this insanity."

"Why?" I asked, "don't you find it healthy?" I inquired.

"Healthy once in a while, heck even twice a day in some cases, but it's as if every time I come over to see either of them… they're always up there going _at_ it!"

"Wanna leave a note?" Mr. Loomis giggled.

"What? Another one?" she asked, "No. _And_ I doubt I could send a letter. I don't believe the postman comes by anymore after hearing that racket."

We stood around in the semi-silence, trying to pretend we heard nothing, even at that distance.

"So, how about it, Doctor Hoffman?" Mr. Loomis asked, "want to join in for a game of Backgammon?"

She sighed heavily and then straitened up, "You know? How about we go into town and I buy you gentlemen a beer or two. Then you can buy me something in kind. Sound like a plan?"

"Most agreeable, Madam."

"Sure, I'm game," said Mr. Loomis.

.*.*.*.*.*.*

_As you might see with this chapter, the added butler from "The Pit of Ultimate Dark Shadows" is still employed here. That story in revision is up. What with the podcast downloads on Archive starting to slowly climb, the text version may not be desired, but one never knows._

_The trouble with "Pit of..." is that with all the humour it's been a struggle to know if anyone is laughing and if so at what? Think of your favourite stand-up comedian on stage cracking jokes you love, but getting no facial or audible reaction from his/her audience. Just seats filled with blank expressions. They really would give up. :(_

_Anyway, please review this one! Peace &... obviously for this story... Love. :)_


	4. Chapter 4: Annabel Lee Reborn

Slightly altered, for the happiness of three relationships.

Annabel Lee

_It was many and many a year ago,_  
_ In a kingdom by the sea,_  
_ That a maiden lived whom you may know_  
_ By the name of ANNABEL LEE;—_  
_ And this maiden she lived with no other thought_  
_ Than to love and be loved by me._

_I was a child and She was a child,_  
_ In this kingdom by the sea,_  
_ But we loved with a love that was more than love—_  
_ I and my ANNABEL LEE—_  
_ With a love that the wingéd seraphs of Heaven_  
_ Coveted her and me._

_And this was the reason that, long ago,_  
_ In this kingdom by the sea,_  
_ A wind blew out of a cloud by night_  
_ Chilling my ANNABEL LEE;_  
_ So that her high-born kinsmen came_  
_ And bore her away from me,_  
_ To shut her up, in a sepulchre_  
_ In this kingdom by the sea._

_The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,_  
_ Went envying her and me;_  
_ Yes! that was the reason (as all men know,_  
_ In this kingdom by the sea)_  
_ That the wind came out of the cloud, chilling_  
_ And killing my ANNABEL LEE._

_But our love it was stronger by far than the love_  
_ Of those who were older than we—_  
_ Of many far wiser than we—_  
_ And neither the angels in Heaven above_  
_ Nor the demons down under the sea_  
_ Can ever dissever my soul from the soul_  
_ Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE:—_

_For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams_  
_ Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;_  
_ And the stars never rise but I see the bright eyes_  
_ Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;_  
_ And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side_  
_ Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride_  
_ In our kingdom here by the sea—_  
_  
_

_We've found one another, and here she is mine,_

_Reborn to me now,_

_dare I question how?_

_I don't, I can not care any less_

_For our love is sublime_

_And we have all the time_

_To enjoy ourselves, ah, I am blessed_

_As the ocean waves roll_

_and the rocks take their toll_

_I turn away from them and what do I see?_

_Forever, my bliss_

_The fair woman I missed._

_The Beautiful ANNABEL LEE._

.*.*.*.*.*.*

Since I was using Nabokov for inspiration on this I went back to one of his inspirations, fitting for a gothic story, Edgar Allen Poe. I thought over the poem and saw so many elements that touched this story too.

So in this strange way, again that number three, all these relationships might have peace.

Barnabas has his Josette in Maggie.

Perhaps a redeemed and better Humbert has a loving, willing (& older) Lolita, not necessarily Dolores Haze.

And Edgar Allen Poe may have his Annabel Lee. (Who was named the first incarnation of Lolita.)


	5. Chapter 5: The Whom of Many

_Again, I found upon re-reading this one there are only veiled hints, so it seems to pass for the T rating._

_*.*.*.*.*.*_

_I would like to express that I knew about how heavily Julia/Barnabas stories are desired, though perhaps even more strongly than I predicted. For any past readers or listeners to "The Pit of Ultimate Dark Shadows" I was as careful as I could be with Julia, as well as in this story._

_On Dark Shadows I have never seen Barnabas make a pass at Julia except to toy with her affections, which of course I didn't like. Later on there were musings they married but this was never aired on television, which I try to stick with._

_I also did not like that Dr. Julia Hoffman would be playing 2nd fiddle as a romantic option to Barnabas. I felt she deserved someone who would make her the leading role in his life, so I chose someone of an academic variety that I felt would suit her better. I hope that assuages any quick assumptions. (And I'm not all that fond of her personal experiments going foul on DS either. I felt her character deserved better than that.)_

Chapter _: The Whom of Many

As I've allowed to express the experience of this strange and unique plight in my love-life, I must again analyze its insistent confusion of fate. What She was, what We are, has left a craving in me to explain the tale. Perhaps more for myself than for anyone else.

You might understand, or perhaps defer to reference, that this woman of whom I love so intensely, is not simply a single woman unto herself. She is at least three, and I have "known" them. So I must explain that **one** in between. THAT was the one who made it all clear. Kitty Soames, or Lady Hampshire.

She was, sadly, the obvious crux of this entire escapade in my love for the original that flew off the cliff so many years ago. Why my Kitty felt compelled to drink of poison, as my mother had done, still escapes me with a wet-eyed glow of compassion. And confusion. However, it is likely her own confusion of knowing so well who she had been and what had become of us that makes this tale a needed one. As my father-in-law has said, there must have been some reason she continued to try and return to me through the centuries. And I in my singular life, as long as it is, can only wonder at the misery I've put my darling through. As grateful as I am at the result.

Kitty, was, indeed, so tightly bound in her corsets as to be almost waif-like. And it pained me to see my Josette in such a state. But likely worse, to see her still crying out to me, still searching to find me, and I am ashamed as such in my attempts to let her go, but not being able to. And in that magnificent dress, she was truly the purple rose of my longing.

Had I known of her existence when I awoke in this time, perhaps I may have been less diabolical in my plans. Though, how one can be so calculating after so much time had passed, with I in this new time period, does assuage some guilt in my terrible actions.

Kitty, my beauty, for who I both mourn and am grateful to have again in this Margaret, dazzles my interest. And if it were not for her, it may not have been so obvious what was happening to us. Something was trying, and when one looks at the chronology of our history, to keep us alive, and to gather us together at that alter of union. And she was brave to come out and say so. Of course it tickles me that she recognized our tormentor, Angelique, and immediately went to throttle the life out of her. For this… Kitty is the name I often use when I see that sweet justice again, in my Maggie.

Of Angelique, I say, that though Josette may have been born to high regard, if anyone has taken the chance to notice, of all the other people with expectations of servants, Josette was the one who treated her like a friend. This makes all that tormenting, both between us, and our families, the worse for it. The one person who wanted to give Angelique the attention she craved, Angelique smote worse than any of the others. And Josette understood, as we all do now, what Angelique's true problem always was: Neglect. Though we hope this can be rectified. There *is* a man who can love her, and it certainly isn't me. Though even with him, she'll have to earn it, and earn it righteously.

Then Kitty took her own life, and as my Maggie has said, it could not be helped, though we still have that longing for Kitty, even now. Though, sometimes when She looks at me, when She speaks with a certain inflection, I know Kitty is there, within her… and when I've engulfed my passion toward her, she tells me she knows, and she _feels_ it. Whether it's a kiss, or whether it is when we imbibe upon each other in that room which belongs to ALL of them, I know she exists. I know she is there, and I know, that all of those three… are **one.**

As for Maggie… who I aim to make right among all of the others, she has told me, in retrospect, just what those night terrors were about.

Oh? You don't remember? The night terrors that sent her screaming out from her own handsome profiled sleep? Those were her evidence of what was to come. The knowledge of all her previous conditions to me, and the future knowledge of the terrible acts I would inflict and forever wish a rotten heart upon myself for. That is the vile aspect of reincarnation… sometimes we not only _know_ what has gone before… but what is… to occur.

The lovely thing of all this is, she knows what ought to be and does it with exquisite divinity. As always, in all her lives, she is not one who likes to idle, and that is the sadness for those who cannot know her. Others see her as sweetness _only_, a trifling happiness and without any complexity. But *I* know better, as do her entourage for which I take up my pen to explain these things.

But what of our Julia? _Poor_ Julia, as some may say. That is something for which I must address because I think so many believe her to be otherwise than I know her.

Dr. Julia Hoffman, must be described above both woman and doctor. And that is the troubling approach in all of this. That people see her only as a woman and _not_ as a doctor, to which she likely has struggled to fight the conventions of her time to prove herself. As I pen these diaries, I have to admit, that her happiness is my happiness, and to see her with that other gentleman is not only a blessing but a fitting condition. You see, as her own previous incarnation with another man… _they _have also returned, to help with the curse they inflicted on my own cousin. And so these things are all working out, as Maggie and Mr. Evans has told us they may.

Julia, has been such a close friend, many would believe her to be a lover. Of course, that is the expectation of the gullible romantic. But Dr. Hoffman is far above this, you must know. And considering how many of the male persuasion in her line of work have shown vaguely superior, it IS an unfairness grotesque to her own ability to decipher problems. They've told me something of this period of time of women's liberation… Well, is it really so liberating when one contemplates only the carnality of a woman? Unfair, **truly** unfair to herself and her profession. And I believe her current paramour knows that… and… so do I.

Thankfully, my own sweet love and my own sweet friend have engaged in a durable bond between each other. Again, I must thank heaven and earth when I see these things. Shan't we all be friends, assisting each other, when all is said and done? I do hope so. And you do realize, that if it wasn't for my heroic Julia, I would not finally have the love I so desire now, nor the love that has so desired _me_ through many generations of wearisome attempts.

Unfortunately I cannot continue with this story just yet. My bride is inviting me, with a winsome eye, to her bedroom. And I'm sure she would be fine with enlightening you on the details of that if anyone requests it. And, as I have noted, from my discussions with our friend Julia, she also is dabbling some disclosures behind certain doors. She has done a great deal of studies in the matters of personal pleasure, and what might light a person's fire. _Ah_… that_ is_ gratifying.

Well, I must pursue this beauty… further… and _deeper_ than before perhaps. And for those out there, in their own wedded bliss, you likely understand what we all are going through. Isn't it lovely?

.*.*.*.*.*.*

_And couldn't it be, though? I'm adding this after thought upon further reflection to this explanation and reactions to who I place Julia with in "The Pit of Ultimate Dark Shadows"._

_Considering this type of writing varies toward preference, which includes major changes in the circumstances of each version depending on the writer, I am continually puzzled at the knee jerk reaction that Julia Hoffman's love for Barnabas Collins can never vary or even be excluded entirely._

_What I've discovered about this style of writing is it tends to be about choice of what some people in common want to see. Obviously, the Julia/Barnabas crowd have been so vocal and so militant that there are likely Barnabas/Josette or Barnabas/Maggie stories we're not seeing at all. It makes me wonder if these writers and dreamers that came before me may have been given harsh treatment and are keeping their stories to themselves, which is why I couldn't find them._

_"Forever Mine" with Josette, on this site is in 1795 and a nip in the bud story. (No Julia)_

_"A Third Option" with Maggie is also a nip in the bud story. (Again, No Julia.)_

_My story, combined with this one, is not only Maggie=Josette, but also incorporates Kitty Soames. And all with Julia._

_I care about Julia Hoffman and saw through this absolutism of her being with Barnabas and didn't want her to play a second fiddle role as his choice, but have someone else step in to fall in love with her and not a made up character. I carefully made sure she would have what she needed so that all in my story would be pleased. However there is still that almost involuntary reflex that no universe, however alternate, could exist in which Dr. Hoffman isn't swooning over him._

_I can already think of 3 different techniques here that would make her not in love with Barnabas and easily placed._

_1) Alternate Universe: Julia simply isn't in love with him._

_2) She cures him, and as her mission is accomplished, she collects her data and goes in search of other vampires to cure._

_3) She simply gets fed up that he's not in love with her and goes off to enjoy the affections of a man who does._

_Why none of these are employed remains a mystery._

_*.*.*.*.*._

_I can very easily see how Julia fans would be thinking, "Well, gosh she did so much for this guy and why didn't she get him?" But for the most part what I see between the two is Her gripes versus His Gripes. She had to do all of this covering up for him and keep him away from the mini-skirted lasses... (WHY is IT almost no gal on this show wears a pair of PANTS?) _

_So I looked at Julia's worries with her one lifetime then I looked at Barnabas with all his other worldly concerns and likely feeling like a BIG prig after turning into such a monster and having so much that he wanted not only ripped away from him like the worst removed hangnail, but then having to deal with all of these 1960's versions of his previous existence and wondering, "Gosh darn it! I miss that Josette, what if this girl WAS actually her?" _

_So between Julia's one lifetime problems and Barnabas' multiple centuries concerns... I felt... well... I think he has the *bigger* gripe._

_Take care. :)_


	6. Chapter 6: Willie's Wounds

_This one seems okay for the T-rating as well, as it's more about kissing than anything else. It's also spoken from Maggie/Josette's perspective. I found trying to write for Willie was too difficult in first person so I went with this kind of slumber-party rapport between the two characters._

_This came out of some re-investigating I did on Willie Loomis' experience trying to warn Maggie Evans in "Dark Shadows". If anyone recalls, he was worried for her safety and ran to the Evans Cottage to warn her. As a result he was shot by the police who lay in waiting to discover her kidnapper. (And shot at least five times. Yikes!) He was in the hospital quite a while from these injuries before moving on to Wyndcliff Sanitarium. When he returned on the original program, to my knowledge, it was never discussed. This was why in my story "The Pit of Ultimate Dark Shadows" I addressed that between Willie and Barnabas. Both that scene and this one have been a struggle to unravel, so please review! Thanks._

Chapter _: Willie's Wounds

When he explained to me the dream he had, I feel I cannot express it in his words, which are usually small and adequate, but hard to translate to anyone later.

What Willie Loomis told me was both tangibly erotic and horrifically sensual. Why would anyone want to tell this to a working professional? One would rather tell of this to a friend. And such, I suppose, I would be.

As we sat in his shabby quarters, of which I kept suggesting be changed and he insisted not, Willie Loomis explained to me, shakily, what happened when he was moved from the hospital to the sanitarium, a place we both knew well.

Perhaps it was a drug induced stupor that caused him to imagine this, or the shock of all he'd gone through. But that nurse, was as kind as any could be, from what he told me. This is why I've made the effort to reach out to her for his sake. And from what I've gathered, she's not taken undue notice toward him. He wasn't making up any flicker or gleam between them. But still, what he described terrified me. For all that, his wounds had been on my account.

My fear comes from what he said; he isn't sure if it was a dream or not. But the risk of infection on such a plight would be a concern, especially by one in the medical profession, which is without any doubt… her. He had to remain on his stomach many long days and nights to heal from bullets so pummeled into him… and, as he said, there were doors opening and shutting, lights flickering, darkness and shadow, the inability to know the difference between day and night, and for some reason, not a clock in the room that he could see.

Still, he did heal… but as he healed… something slowly took place, in arcs of time he had to cobble together in the end, so that it was like a long string of images that came in sync to form a single fantasy that fed the psyche into a shorter span of time, as he fumblingly expressed it later.

It was a moistness on his back… a warm moistness. A smooth probing that awoke him in the half light, a kissing sensation that poured over him, as a soft hand gently stroked the back of his head and neck. I could not ask him if it really was truly a dream to him. I could only pray that it was not. Some_thing_ or some_one_ was genuinely trying to sooth him, and I thanked heaven for it, even it was only an inner realm of his subconscious.

It had to be a woman, the lightness of breath that he described, the slimness of touch, the echo of sweet lips upon his ears. It stimulated him in all his uncertain mobility. It had to be more than kissing she did, as he had to describe to me that thick moistness trailing along his spine, warm but not watery, with the coolness that comes later when the air slowly moves over each damp area. Again, from what he was telling me, could it really be a dream? And wasn't this someone that had spent so much time with him? That discussed her smaller interests? That was so pleasant to us when we came looking for him?

She could hardly massage his back, as it was so tormented with the muscle splitting damage, torn skin and the metal that had to be removed… but _She… _according to what he experienced, or perhaps only dreamed, so lightly suckled and licked on those areas, something loving and painfully sweet. Someone, who'd known him and wanted to know him more… someone who tried to face him in the dark, but whose face he could barely make out in this memory of it now.

"Did she never kiss you, Willie?" I asked, "Didn't she speak to you, or look into your face?"

"Ya know," he answered slowly, "I thought she had… but then, I thought I felt I was… on her… and it must'a just been the bed itself."

"That's all right," I told him, "Willie, just tell me… did you try and touch… _her?_"

He did. He was certain he'd slipped his fingers along her jawline and they tenderly kissed. Then the way he described her lips, full and soft and almost candied, wasn't what I expected. Something just too vivid to be a dream.

That's when I knew, I _had_ to find her. His own description was too visceral, even for him, that **that** particular piece of the puzzle was only a fantasy to him? It must have happened. And then I remembered that old Willie Loomis… the mean and cruel imbecile that once snorted out insults and made improper passes at us all.

Did we ever give him credit for being able to change? And what had changed him? It was something terrible, I know, and hard to understand how something so awful, as his helplessness could alter that behaviour. Or was it also having to change who he was _around_ most of the time? Still, when I sat, listening to him, and comparing the two, there seemed such a stark difference. I'd think of one as brusque and unfeeling as a lover, not delicate in his attempt to caress another as he was describing.

"You… you… you don't mind that I'm tellin' you all this, do ya?" he suddenly asked. I hadn't realized we'd both been silent for over a minute.

"No, no," I answer quickly, "I understand. There are always times that you want to make sure you're not imagining things… or trying to decide what was real and what wasn't."

"Do… do ya think, it… could have happened, Maggie?"

"Anything is possible… especially around here, you know. But when it comes to that… are you sure it wasn't only her cleaning you with a warm rag on your back?"

He had that usual quiet snicker, looking down, "Maggie… wash rags don't exactly pucker, do they?"

"True… but, I suppose I've got to wonder how _you_ felt about it. Were you shocked? Or…?"

"I hafta tell ya… I got the chills, but… you know… the surprised kind… and then… the good kind."

I had to softly smile at this. Something in such a situation, that could be creepy on one hand, and beautiful on the other, seemed to fit Mr. Loomis. It had to be so beyond his experience. I found myself very grateful that in all that time someone had taken his pathetic form to her heart and perhaps could build his confidence, which he needed very carefully built up. Carefully, because I remember the cocky, un-sober Willie Loomis who was indifferent to the truth, as long as he could get something expensive out of it. I had no desire to see that man again. Who he was exploring himself to be, someone deeper, and thoughtful, was who I wanted to see, and when it came down to it, so did everyone else in a way. Who could object to such a gentle man, if indeed he _could_ be in the end?

"Willie," I asked, "you sound so unsure where this took place. Could it have actually been the sanitarium?"

"A'course it could… _if_ it happened, Maggie… like I said, everything is such a blur… except how she touched me… _j-u-s-t_ the way she pressed her lips on my back… ran her fingers through my hair… and…" he faltered.

"And what? Her shadow?" I asked.

"That's not the right word for it… I think… I think," he sighed, trying to come up with it.

I waited.

"The one thing… stronger than anything else I can remember about it."

"Yes?"

"Was… her… silhouette."


	7. Chapter 7: A Warm Night On Widows Hill

_As my cold continued, along with this new writing experience, it struck me that through certain scenes these two characters were not only finally exploring each other, but beginning to bring their love into other areas of their home. In this way they could provide more sacred memories in order to heal the past. Association with bad experiences tend to keep most people away from almost anything: songs, certain individuals, choice of media, and certainly places._

_How Barnabas and Josette could embody their home with the love it required was to create new and better experiences, however intimate, into these zones. Couples do get a bit of thrill passing by certain areas they've made love in, not just the bedroom, of course. That's when I realised there was one place that needed to be cleansed in this way beyond all others. So, I would deeply appreciate some feed back on this chapter. Very curious if it's hit that mark. I find it quite profound._

_I do re-read this one and felt it was important... and of course, she would *have* to dare him to do it. ;)_

Chapter _: A Very Warm Night On Widows Hill

Tony Peterson and Carolyn Stoddard had been relaxing late one evening on a bench near Widow's Hill. As one can imagine, the romantic tragedy of that place can bring a kind of terror that sparks certain yearnings to those in love. Of course, they settled in from holding hands, to making out, to certain second-base activities… until… Mr. Peterson's eyes wandered toward the cliff and noticed movement, like two animals wrestling twenty feet from the edge.

"What is it, Tony?" Carolyn asked, almost out of breath, "what's stopping you?"

"I—think…" he raised himself back to sitting position and adjusted the lapels on his somewhat ruffled coat, "… there… is… someone over there…"

Carolyn sat up in turn and gasped at the sight. "Hmm, that's rather far away from where _we're_ sitting… but, even under blankets… I think I know who…" Her voice trailed off in uncertain dismay.

"Meeee too," Tony Peterson responded, "and I'm not… sure… we… should… be…"

"Watching them?" Carolyn said, beginning to smile, "well, it won't cool **us** off to do so, that's for sure!"

"I, well," Tony uttered, "haven't they been married for a while now? You'd think the honeymoon age would have tempered down at this point."

"Not with those two," Carolyn started to giggle, "They've been waiting QUITE a while, so I've gathered."

Tony looked to Carolyn and shared her amusement, "Carolyn Stoddard. You certainly are sounding mischievous right now. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Likely," she answered, "but let's just think it. Besides, I'm sure they'd hear us creeping up if we were to play such a prank. AND I don't have a whoopee cushion stashed away in my pocket, do _you_?"

"They must be out here for more than it being a warm night. Best leave them to it."

And, of course, Tony Peterson was correct.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

The evening had started, much the same as most. David's studies had long concluded, and dining had commenced. Drinks before the fire at Collinwood had gathered a few of us to talk of old times… some bad memories, but more good ones that had been happening, which was such a comfort.

Barnabas and I slowly roamed back home to The Old House, and we caught a glimpse of Willie Loomis walking hand in hand with his sweetheart through the woods. They were so fetching, and clearing the air of those places that had been plagued with sacrilege and savage deeds. His final understanding of love, I thought, watching the two walking through the brush and trees was an amazing accomplishment I could only put to him.

"Well," said my Mr. Collins, "that is a sight. It's very warm tonight, indeed. Good to see him calming down."

"Or rather," I added, "getting worked up?"

We continued into the house, and sitting on the davenport, I expected us to simply hold close, and I to rest my head upon his shoulder. It started out that way, and he stroked my head. But something in that first kiss, when I turned to face him, lit a thrill of adventure and the next thing I knew, it had turned passionate. I wrapped my arms around his neck and shoulders as we went on and felt his hands massage the top most sides of my ribs just below my arms. It only made matters worse as I thought mad things.

"Somewhere else needs to be cleansed," I breathed as our lips parted.

"Where, my dearest?"

"Would you allow me my choice?"

"Anything, anything at all for you," he answered, stroking my face and hair.

"A bad place, a tragic edge by the sea," I said.

He seemed to stop breathing as he stared at me. An indefinable look crossed his face, "Maggie Evans," he finally said, "You can't mean that."

"Why not," I said, staring him down, "we've already kissed there."

His hands rested on my shoulders and he brought his chin in, looking up at me, "I don't want to disappoint you… but I don't exactly share your enthusiasm for it. Besides, it's dangerous."

"For us as we are now?" I asked, lowly.

"That's a lot to ask," he answered, just as low.

"You forget, _mon démon,_ **I'm** the one who's asking. And it's a lot for me to brave asking."

"You've always been brave, my dearest."

"And you haven't?" I kissed him, tenderly.

"One doesn't wish to boast," he sighed with a smile.

I took his head in my hands, resting two fingers around both of his ears, "I _dare_ you, Barnabas Collins. I _dare_ you to make love with me on Widow's Hill."

To this, I saw a blink, with some sparkle of anticipation. Then he threw a fervent kiss into me as his answer.

.*.*.*.*.*.*


	8. Chapter 8: To Love, To Speak, To Name

_In "The Pit of Ultimate Dark Shadows", I have found Kitty Soames of 1897 to be a necessity while going down a condensed version of the original Dark Shadows storyline. In my story, Maggie remembers all three lives in chronological order, whereas Barnabas does not. His travels go from 1795, then 1967, and later he reaches 1897. Having Maggie regress into past lives chronologically would make the story work._

_In "Pit of..." her memory urges that this Barnabas can be forgiven, because she remembers him working for the greater good in 1897, though he hasn't experienced it yet. She knows when that does happen and he returns *that* is the time to allow him absolution. So, the Kitty Soames life time becomes an important point in his gaining that forgiveness._

_And, as shown here in these vignettes, he succeeds. :)_

_.*.*.*.*.*.*_

Chapter _: To Love, To Speak, To Name

I have to admit… when my husband returned from a trifling matter at the Main House of Collinwood… I had a few yearnings of my own I'd acquired. I'm sure his errand had something to do with a decanter and our Cousin Roger's machinations between some absurdity and his Sherry… for which we need look on with loving bemusement. As it all comes down to the essentials… Roger _is_ rather a gentleman when one gets to know him.

Still, I was looking forward to Barnabas's return… and I managed to get the other gentlemen away before he did. They sweetly ventured a few knowing smiles when I informed them of what I was after… Considering how big this homestead was… why WOULDN'T I wish to explore the avenues of love in all of its surfaces? And… with **Him**?

We'd slept on this Davenport together that I rested my back upon now, as I lay on these blankets before the fireplace … and… I _remember _walking in this door one hundred, seventy-four years ago… Seeing my people… seeing his people… and now that it was so much was quieter… if all the locks were secured, and the fireside lowly crackled… why **wouldn't** I wish to have some experimental time right here? Really? Why wouldn't I?

I had to giggle to myself… I wasn't sure if Mr. Barnabas Collins would be confused, surprised, or eager. I really had no idea. But I was curious. And I sighed…

Here it was that I'd been so disappointed and again, foolishly taken poison… but does anyone know what I was feeling or thinking at the time? What I'd been imagining in this room? What wild motions of love I'd entailed in my mind as I sat there waiting for what felt like forever? And surely, when one considers what I'd been through… I **HAD** been waiting forever… from one lifetime to the next… What a man… and a man one might not believe worth it… but he's always been to me.

After moving pieces of furniture with our two wonderful employees, I had this terrible feeling that from my various smiles and meaningful petting on the top of their hands… well… I had to wonder if they weren't driving off soon to something along the lines of… a house of ill repute… ? …or a theatre of lingerie damsels who danced around poles…? …or perhaps a certain movie-house in which… well, I'm sure you may be making up your own minds of where they went.

In Collinsport, there is a saloon of sorts, of course, we all know that… but perhaps I should be ashamed that I may have put ideas in their heads and led them elsewhere. What I would dearly love is if they'd only gone to the shed again for another game of Backgammon. Or they could have gone to see Papa about some more portraits. His paintings have truly been coming along. Yes, if they went to see him… That would relieve my heart.

Still, I had to enjoy the candlelight and the lack of any obnoxiously interrupting telephone to my thoughts. I stayed, with a bottle of chilled wine, resting on some cushions over blankets in front of the fire… and staring into it after I'd placed another log there. There were three now, resting cross angled over one another. "Three," I mused out loud, "like me."

I sighed… oh… how I'd always wanted_ just_ this. I sipped my wine and had about three books I was tempted to flip through and just kept touching the covers of while I thought, and stared, and waited. Of course, one of these books was by John Cleland, published in 1748. I tended to leaf through it at times, but that was usually _all_ I needed. I do love the ending line: "The paths of Vice are sometimes strewed with roses, but then they are for ever infamous for many a thorn, for many a cankerworm: those of Virtue are strewed with roses purely, and those eternally unfading ones." If my old friend, Angelique had read this, _could_ read it, I'd hope it would make all the difference.

Perhaps it was the lack of oxygen… as the fire is so likely to waft it away within itself and I kept thinking… what will he do when he walks in that door, turns to his left and sees me awaiting him in this state lying down among quilts and cushions? What will he think? But what did it really matter until the time came?

Soon enough, I heard the door open and his footsteps… I knew they could only be his and his alone.

"So…" he almost whispered, "awaiting me, my pet?"

"Yes…" I answered softly.

.*.*.*.*.*.*

_(Let's just say they smooched a lot;)_

_Anyway, the Kitty Soames encounter of 1897/1795 was so brief I can imagine a 1960's housewife coming home from a tropical vacation only to discover the gorgeous 1897 on Dark Shadows suddenly lambasted with these bizarre Leviathan weirdos. Picture her rushing out in her curlers, hairpins trailing behind, to ask Selma next door what the heck is going on? :S_

_Of course, the teenagers likely knew..._

_Still it is brief. Kitty kept remembering being Josette to the point where she strangled Angelique with a vengeful relapse of judgement, then lost all knowledge again and was embarrassed and shocked. In this way I can see Josette being the kind who *could* attack, so these bedroom vignettes might not be so implausible._

_Kitty was about to leave to keep from being pulled back into Josette's identity. Somehow she was lured to The Old House and Barnabas knew. Still, Kitty would go from saying yes to no and then finally when Barnabas flat out proposed, she desperately accepted._

_And *again* "Oh, I have to go do this other thing first..." P'shaw! Uh-huh... :/_

_So, Kitty paces in Josette's room, likely biting her fingernails down to the cuticle in anxiety of waiting, suddenly has Josette's wedding dress on, morphs into the portrait, which later Barnabas joins her and then suddenly they're back in 1795 but separated. It's episode 884-886. And later on so much teamwork ruined by those pesky Leviathans..._

_And as you all likely know by now... well... I have another Doctor lined up for them! :)_


	9. Chapter 9: Willie TP's Collinwood

_I just love this one, and not for anything I'm not giving away in this edited version, I've found I only re-read it for the hilarity and the idea that Willie Loomis can be just as mischievous as ever without being outright cruel. I know I've given a way a lot of plans with my other story, but I'm hanging on to who his girlfriend is, and who Mrs. Stoddard;s upcoming paramour is as well. I gotta say, with the lyrics, I kinda dig this idea of the Collins Family melding with The Partridge Family. ;)_

Chapter _: Willie Toilet Papers Collinwood

_Hello world, here's a song that we're singin'  
Come on, get happy  
A whole lotta lovin' is what we'll be bringin'  
We'll make you happy_

_We had a dream we'd go travelin' together  
And spread a little lovin' if we'll keep movin' on  
Somethin' always happens whenever we're together  
We get a happy feelin' when we're singin' a song_

_Travelin' along, there's a song that we're singin'  
Come on, get happy  
A whole lotta lovin' is what we'll be bringin'  
We'll make you happy  
We'll make you happy  
We'll make you happy_

Of course, this tale is too much of a delight to let pass without revealing certain shreds of it. When Willie Loomis told me about it, he _did _say it with his usual aplomb I still have a hard time translating, of course, but for some reason, every detail was explained as we shared some laughs over a glass of port and some candy bars. You see, there is just something about love tales that we feel the need to express with a friend. And frankly, in _this_ town and on _this _estate, we all need to make certain vents to our frustration and that includes the _good_ things.

Of course, the girl we can't give a name to right now, had come to express her loneliness and the bad things that had happened to her recently at her old place of employment. And was Mr. Loomis _ever_ concerned. I'm sure he was more than willing to give a fist in the face to the man who'd made her job so troubling. However, I _did_ tell him, that _our home_ was so huge, we would gladly allow her admittance. It would beat all to see her out of that boarding house and not only that, but I could *finally* get Willie to change his shabby rooms to something at least a little more grand. And what might be grander than Barnabas's old bedroom? My husband and I have found it almost implausible to cleanse that room with our love. There was simply too much hurt there; especially with my **other **husband haunting it so much. I leave it to Willie Loomis and his own sweet lady to do that job for us. But that's not what THIS story is about.

It was when they went for that first walk together, and had passed all the various places where he'd dug unnecessary graves, and people tied to trees, etcetera, etcetera, you get the idea. But as the afternoon settled, they came back and saw the brown paper bags she'd left beside the door of the Old House. Mr. Loomis had asked what they were. And she pleasantly showed him.

Of course, he'd professed that perhaps we might need all that toilet paper in her bag for the old outhouse some of us still bother to use. But she shook her head, "No, no, Willem," for some reason, that's what she prefers to call him, "this was for another plan I had in mind."

"What did ya have in mind?" he asked, almost coyly.

"Well…" she smiled slowly, "you and I are mischievous people, of course,"

"I know," he answered, "ya told me."

"So I thought we might… _toilet paper_ Collinwood."

"What?" he laughed, "_This_ place?"

"No, no," she responded, "I wouldn't even _know_ how to climb these columns. I meant the main house."

"Oh?" He smiled with a hand-rubbing surprise, "ya really mean that?"

"I thought it might help," she answered, "we need a little mischief that isn't so terrible, don't we?"

Willie laughed in disbelief, "How did ya ever come to know me so well?"

"Oh," she said, "you and I have known each other before."

…

"Oh, no!" I chuckled, "and that was _just_ the start?"

"Yep, Maggie, it was… are ya sure ya want to know the rest?"

"You can't leave it down to that, Willie Loomis," I told him, "I didn't encourage this for _nothing_. If you want to tell me, I'm more than willing to hear it."

And so he continued…

…

They raced through to a room where they could reach the roof of that house. I think Mrs. Johnson came out with some curious wonderings that they ignored and of course she just shrugged. We _all_ know that Mrs. Johnson is ready to expect any oddities passing through the doors. I'm not surprised she didn't pursue those two.

And so they found a window, climbed out of it and up to the roof, bags in hand, ripped off the cellophane wrapping and proceeded to fling rolls of toilet paper all about the outside walls of what paupers what might call a palace but _we _all call Home. With all the stomping and laughing on the roof a window opened and Roger called out, "What on earth _are_ all these shenanigans?"

At this point he saw the tissue flowing effusively and laughed himself into approval, "Oh, go ahead, Mr. Loomis! Have your fun! We'll have it cleaned by someone. Why _else_ have all this money?"

"Thank you, Mr. Collins!" called out our Lady of Love.

And then David climbed out the window and was brought up over a gable to join in the festivities. The three of them had the time of their lives with 42 rolls of cheap toilet paper cascading all over the estate, wondering what might happen if Elizabeth Stoddard might roll back in from her trip to England at that moment. And we all know whether that happened or not. Ahem!

At some point, our Willie was getting a bit hot for this damsel who had managed to touch his playful heart so dearly. David was seen carefully back through the same window as Roger caught him. Roger asked them if they'd like a drink with him. They declined, and Roger, _knowing_ what they might be up to next, accepted their answer and made good to get his son downstairs for some distraction, the better to dissuade a listening ear.

Of course, who needs blankets with this kind of excitement? They managed to kiss passionately, to which she made _no_ resistance but breathed excitedly. She told him, "It's been such a hard life for us, Willem… let's change that."

"Really?" he exhaled, excitedly kissing her.

"Absolutely," she said, "unless there was something you wanted to do first?"

"Yes, there is," he answered, "I want you to rest on your stomach."

"Why?" she breathed, continuing to kiss him.

"Because… I knew… it was _you…_"

"Me? Who did what?" she asked, as if she didn't know.

"I'll show yer," he answered, helping to turn her about on her stomach to the roof and proceeding to kiss her back, in remembrance of what she'd done for him, in the same areas on _her_ that he remembered on himself. He described her scraping the roof tiles in agony until a nail broke… to which he kissed it as lovingly as he could and she turned over.

...

"… is this too much, Maggie?"

"No! Go on… what happened?"

"Never thought I had it in me, huh?"

"Yes, I did, Willie," I answered, "what happened? How did you not roll off that roof together and break your necks?"

"Oh," he awoke, "that was easy, ya see our feet were against one of the chimneys."

"What?" I asked, incredulous.

"Oh, well her feet were against that chimney and I was happy they were. Didn't think you'd hear all this from _me_, eh?" he asked.

"Well," I answered, "I'd _hoped_ to."

"Really?" he asked, in disbelief, resting his head on his elbow facing me from his bed.

"Oh, of course, Willie… come on now…" I said, reaching my arm out, "don't you understand?" he took my hand, "That we want you to be happy, too?"

"Oh…" he answered in perplexed bemusement, "I wanted ta think so, but… yeh, know…"

"Willie Loomis," I said, "Please… _you_ know this… you _know_ we want this kind of thing… AND to hear about it."

He let go of my hand, "Well, then I can tell ya… it ended more… beautifully than I could have ever told ya."

"Oh?" I dared to ask.

"Yes… I… well…"a

"Don't be shy _NOW_, Willie! You have me rolling on your bedroom floor already!"

He brought himself to a sitting position on his bed, clasped his own hands and bent his head down in that usual laughter that was so appropriate for him, "Oh… I know, Maggie, I know… I… I just couldn't get enough a'her then."

"Oh?" I asked, "what did you do?"

"I kept going… a'course," he answered, " and I… I … I kissed her everywhere that I could. I… wanted her all over… her stomach, her legs, he arms, her lips, her face… I just… suddenly… wanted it all…"

There was a long silence…

"Oh," I finally said, "Willie, that's beautiful… why are you stopping now?"

"Well," he finally said, falling back on his bed with a spring-back thud, "I don't know how to tell ya the rest."

"I'm still curious," I smiled.

"Do you know what she did when kissed me once?"

"I won't even guess," I answered, "_you_ tell me."

"She took her tongue and licked the roof of my mouth…" he said, dreamily.

"Oh," I said, "well… I… well… how did that feel?"

"Oh… Josette Dupres… you _know_ how that feels, don't cha?"

And that's when I knew… Willie Loomis finally understood, through the gift of love, who I really was.

"Thank you, Willie Loomis." I said.

"For what," he asked.

"For calling me that, finally."

"Oh… Josette…" he said, "how couldn't I_?"_

"Willie," I said, reaching for his hand again, and him, lying on his bed, accepting mine, "do you love her?"

He chuckled in that usual way he had, "Oh, Josette Dupres, how could I not love her? I want her now, even as I hold your hand. I want _her_… I want her to lay with me here. But you…. You… Josette Dupres… ya've helped to make this all possible… tell me… Maggie… will you help us? Will you always be our friend?"

I had to give a whisper echo of tears, I was too happy to shed more than that. "Willie Loomis," I said, "_that_ girl is moving _into_ this house!"

Willie Loomis laughed happily, taking his hand away, and crossing both hands over his chest, "I knew it… I _knew_ it… ya've always known us… ya've always known us_ all_… and I will happily take that other bedroom… if that's what ya want." He looked at the ceiling in retrospect of that incident he had with his lady love on the rooftop of Collinwood.

"Of course," I said, "I _want_ you to change rooms, Willie… but… did you… did you two… complete each other than night?"

Willie Loomis turned his head to his right to face me, "Margaret Dupres, _ye' know_… _we did_… in more ecstasy than I've ever know in all my life." Then he shifted himself to rest on his side to face me, "Josette Dupres, don't you know you've changed us all, _and_ me, with all the happiness now?"

"No," I told him, "it's not just _me_ that's changed this place… it's _you_, and your strong heart… Willie Loomis… that have changed us all." Then I stroked his hair and kissed him on the cheek.

*.*.*.*.*.*.

_If nothing else a smilie [:)] will do for a review. It's just so sweet. I know *I'm* grinning from ear to ear._


	10. Chapter 10: And Sometimes Fear

Sorry but because I'm planning on publishing the parent version of this story, "Margaret Josette Dupres", I have to pull some chapters here because publishing firms aren't too cozy with printing books that have already been seen for free online.

I decided that I will summarize what happens in the missing chapters and they will be like the bonus tracks on a CD when the book is published for purchase.

I've been considering making a "clean version" as well, but I'm not sure if anyone would like that, too. I can't know unless I'm told.

With the Chapter "And Sometimes Fear" Josette begins to reflect on past memories and concerns about more trouble brewing as it so often did before. It's very likely this would happen after so much torment. Bad dreams of past wrongs come to haunt many of us often. She experiences her original Josette turmoil as being bewitched to marry Jeremiah, as well as the re-newed back step when Kitty Soames went back in time to try again as Josette and Barnabas followed her. Both attempts failed which is why her third reincarnation as Maggie Evans stands out as the final life that works.

But the memories of horrors we've experienced haunt us all, and no moment is ever "the right moment" for it to happen. :(

_There are a number of chapters I'm briefing. This one is of Maggie as Josette remembering both the past of Kitty Soames and its tragedy of being separated from Barnabas, as well as being wedded by bewitchment to a man she really had no desire for. She experiences a shaky freak out and Barnabas having to comfort her… with… well.. this IS the CLEAN version, isn't it?_

_One part I especially enjoy is Barnabas reflecting enough upon the painting Pop/Papa had of Barnabas, Maggie and Sarah asleep on the davenport one night. It meant a great deal to them, or as Barnabas told Sam, "I'd rather give up my HOME than request this NOT be painted!" And then of course the gentle way he comforts Josette when she is upset… Ah well, I'm giving too much away, or maybe I'm enticing you to finally post it in "Margaret DuPres"? I may not be leaving out too much actually._

_In "The Pit of Ultimate Dark Shadows" I was delighted to come up with the painting idea. You see, I managed to bring Sarah back because in Dark Shadows her concern was her brother being bad over good. As things altered in my story, it made sense that she returned in order to expose him to the rewards of his own changes... or as David soon snapped his fingers: "Positive Reinforcement! I've read about that!" But, I must confess, coming up with extremely old-school activities for this brother and sister was NOT the easiest thing in the world! If they'd only done more of that in the show! So much was left open ended. Ah, well... more gaps to fill._

_Another part I've liked is that in the radio play there is one of the usual ripping arguments between Mr. B. Collins and Dr. J. Hoffman, one of the best I've ever encountered, and they hash out what the heck IS so great about Maggie or Josette? Or as Julia finally says, "Her" finally describing the two as one. Of course Julia is angry with this idea Barnabas has of Josette being perfection-overload. This makes him rather pissed off, as one would expect, and he keeps pressing the issue that Josette isn't perfect but divine. It takes a while for Julia to get the point he's making. I wasn't sure how to get him to describe what he was saying exactly. Thankfully in this chapter he does._

_Further Notes:_

_This chapter was intensely difficult to write. With Josette bursting out from the shadows, as it were, her desires and needs gained in an exhausting display of passion, I knew it would have to tone down eventually and bring deeper reflections of what she would be going through to adapt to her new life._

_Because both lives are inherently linked with Maggie's, she contains memories in the same way that John Sullivan's memories are both retained and altered, much like a remix of the same life, but separate timelines. (John Sullivan is the character from the film "Frequency" that was released in 2000.) In Sullivan's life he finds away to communicate with a younger version of his deceased father and in doing so alters the past several times._

_Maggie would retain the Kitty Soames life who returned to 1795 as Josette in a new replay of similar events as the original Josette, which is why she talks about both here._

_Barnabas understands that though he doesn't enjoy her frailty in what he expected would come, he appreciates the ability to comfort and meet her needs, and does so with as much care as he can._

_..._

_In analyzing what happened between Josette and Jeremiah, I can really do nothing but find disbelief in any "true-love" along those lines. It was another frightful display of manipulation and destruction by Angelique Bouchard, and as I've mentioned in the second intro to my podcast, "The Pit of Ultimate Dark Shadows" I do intend to address how Josette felt about it. Though I can here if anyone would like to know. I've found a rather simple, yet disturbing answer._

_And, of course, Josette *did* kiss Barnabas passionately and rather shortly after Jeremiah's death, in full mourning regalia. I hardly believe that constitutes much link between her and Jeremiah._

_So, Josette would need to be reminded, yes, this is all real, all true, and this *is* the man that she wanted, living in the proof of it._


	11. Chapter 11: A Cleansing

Sorry but because I'm planning on publishing the parent version of this story, "Margaret Josette Dupres", I have to pull some chapters here because publishing firms aren't too cozy with printing books that have already been seen for free online.

I decided that I will summarize what happens in the missing chapters and they will be like the bonus tracks on a CD when the book is published for purchase.

I've been considering publishing a "clean version" as well, but I'm not sure if anyone would like that, too. I can't know unless I'm told.

In this chapter Maggie prepares a bath as her bathing quarters have been fixed and running water installed in the house. Even in some of the dangers of candles I felt it was more romantic to leave The Old House more or less as it was, but if people can't BATHE that's just atrocious. (One of the MANY things we take for granted in this First World, including the hard work many writers do to give thankless readers a fun past-time. *wink*)

I leave the old notes for this chapter as well...

_Oh, if anyone remembers in "The Pit of Ultimate Dark Shadows" Sophia Petrillo took Adam home to Brooklyn for a job in manufacturing soap. I just love that Adam remembers his benefactors with these little gifts._

_And yes, this gives away a bit of what Mr. Loomis is going to be doing as well…. But... Come on... it's a lovely place now, and yet... still spooky. I just *love* that Willie has changed so much to become what he is here and both designed and created Josette's engagement ring and their wedding rings._

_As I've got in my rough sketch notes for the matrimonial jewelry design:_

_BARNABAS: From what I've seen, I believe you're competent enough to do this design work. Would you like to?_

_WILLIE: Yeh, yeh... I think I'd like that a lot._

_BARNABAS: Very good. I've given you the specifications and I trust you'll do them justice._

_WILLIE: Thank you. I'll do my best, Barnabas._

_BARNABAS: I know._

_[steps]_

_WILLIE: Ya know... I never thought opening that coffin would lead to all of this._

_BARNABAS: Who could?_

_WILLIE: Yeh... after it all… I'm surprised knowing you would change me so much._

_BARNABAS: Well, I suppose some bad things occur in order to give us better results, Willie._

_WILLIE: Yeh... I guess so... I used to be so worried about what you did to Jason... but now... I'm almost grateful..._

_BARNABAS: Oh?_

_WILLIE: Yeh... I understand now. He wasn't really my friend. And… in all of our squabbles... somehow... you... turned out to be..._

_And as my pen pal who's helped me so much with all of this work and the encouragement for it… she told me, of all the hurts that I'd healed and the friendships that I'd helped to grow from it… this one is her favourite._

_The other chapter I'm skipping is a slow moving one of romance and sensuality in which the two are enjoying gazing and wondering and growing and in their vampirism, discovering that they are beginning to speak telepathically to each other in this way. She can read His thoughts better than He can read Hers._

_I'd originally chosen them to be vampires in my other version of the story due to its sexy appeal… but now that I have thought it over, it makes even more sense. As Barnabas knows his Josette through both Kitty Soames and Maggie, there is a requirement that they desire at least three generations to make up for all the time they've lost. Maggie, as Josette, has the upper need in this as she had lived all those periods rather than gestating in a wooden box ad nauseum._

_And so in that chapter I'm skipping, she finds her telepathy skill as a vampire, and his bride, surfacing much quicker. As in my other version of this story she has the dominance, which is just as well. It's not like Barnabas would mind, would he? And since these series of vignettes give much away as to what turns out in "The Pit of The Ultimate Dark Shadows"… who finally gives them this gift of sweet, not-so-cursed, un-blemishing vampirism?_

_Obviously: Cousin Lily! ;) And of course! I know it's a bit cheesy but from what I've seen online Lily Dracula Munster does entice sex-appeal from a great many fans. Lily doesn't bite Barnabas, though. Nope! She bites Josette. That way Josette can bite Barnabas, and so… he will always be under her power._


	12. Chapter 12 (Has the Capt & Mrs Muir)

_If you're wondering why I keep writing these vignettes, I've asked myself that as well. I think it's to keep me focused on my end goal result for "The Pit of Ultimate Dark Shadows". I don't have a ton of people to discuss it with, but thankfully I do have a few people now and I do want it to be both my venture and yours. There are things I want to see, but if there is anything you'd like me to add, I'm happy to hear it._

_And yes, I do believe 100 episodes of it won't be so hard a year or two down the road. As I've been told it's like the soap opera all over again but with a new twist. And my Aunt has done performances on the radio that are over 300 episodes, so... I know it can be done. _

_If you can say nothing else, if you like this, a "thx" is all I would like. Enjoy..._

Dedicated to... Osheen Navoy: Keeper of the Torch for Bill Malloy! (And I HIGHLY recommend the Vanessa Carlton song at the end from her album "Rabbits on The Run". It's got that 1960's vibe.)

Tony's Proposal

The two Carolyn's were wrapping up their meeting. These two, of course were Miss Carolyn Stoddard and Mrs. Carolyn Muir. They were often amused how this could confuse some people, but as like two people with the same first name, they never were confused by it. They simply knew from the context of any sentence which one of them was meant when someone spoke to them.

The publishing business they put together hadn't thrived... yet, but it certainly was bringing in a decent sense of accomplishment from the both of them. The best seller so far was the one that the ghost of Captain Gregg and the ghost of Bill Malloy had told together by combining their tales of sea and shore. It had turned out rather short as the two men had the note-taking women in stitches with all their salty-dog appeal.

At first Captain Gregg was telling the tale and explaining what Bill Malloy had to say about it until Bill finally remembered just how it worked that Captain Gregg created a corporeal and audible representation of his ghostly form. Finally, Bill Malloy was seen again in Collinsport after such a long absence.

"As the torrents fall among the sails, tossed our vessel through the frosty gales..." breezed ol' Bill in an intoxicated swing of words made in a slight slur with the libation of Madeira the Captain always seemed to have on hand.

"Aye!" Captain Gregg pointed out, "_just_ the title for our novelette."

"Say again?" asked Bill.

"As The Torrents Fall!" Captain Gregg announced.

The ladies picked themselves up and began taking notes again. It had gotten to the point where these ghostly men were almost unintelligible in their collection of witty banter.

As for the current novel they were looking over, it was Mrs. Muir's longest. It delved into the trials and tribulations of ghostly gatherings along the roads betwixt Schooner Bay and Collinsport. The state of Maine just seemed to be flooded with lost souls at times. Then at other times, it was filled with the type of poltergeists that had such a deft sense of humour one couldn't help but join them in the oddities of the mirth they shared with their living and undead relations.

"It's likely time for me to head home," said Mrs. Muir, sliding a cardboard top over the box of her pages, "but you really think it's good, Carolyn?"

"A little sadder than most," Miss Stoddard told her, "but you rarely miss anything when it comes to setting down all the details. That's what I've enjoyed most about working with you."

"You know," Mrs. Muir hesitated, "you never did tell me how that proposal came to be. You promised me you would when I called you today to come by."

Carolyn Stoddard, lying down on her stomach over her bed, looked down at her ring, a fair diamond set in a claw of gold. As many young lovers of the feminine variety do, she glanced there and fiddled with it. An engagement ring; A ring that would never meet its stone-less twin. And so, Carolyn Stoddard explained.

.*.*.*

It was a ripening sunset along the shore and Tony Peterson had more on his mind than any of the usual dates Carolyn and he had enjoyed since he was released from the schemes of Roger's annulled wife. How it all came about he was never sure, but sometimes he'd hear a tongue twister and be reminded of this terrible hypnotist act he'd gone to see one night. It was never quite clear to him what had happened to him. However it _was_ clear to him what was happening now. He was in love and in love with a staggering hope. Would she say yes? And... might she say it tonight?

What Tony was happy about is that, for once, Carolyn was *not* in a blasted mini-skirt or short dress. No. He'd come to her house and saw that she was doing some wall papering in the East Wing. Somehow Carolyn Stoddard in olive overalls, a long sleeved white shirt and a bandana scarf to cover the top of her head was endearing enough for him to think: Yes, perfect.

Carolyn hadn't gotten so much paste along herself nor her clothes and she was pleased to know there was a distraction downstairs to take her away from the work. Really, there were just so many cobwebs in that place they could start a collection in the Family Diaries about where they found them all and likely how they came about with what happened in all of those rooms.

"Well?" Tony asked, giving her a kiss on the ear.

"Well?" she lightly giggled in response.

"How about a walk along the shore?"

"Sounds wonderful," she answered, moving up to wrap her arms over his head for a lengthy kissing embrace.

...

The gulls were in force and thankfully not asking for tid-bits from the couple, nor dropping any unwanted refuse in their way.

"Thank you, " Carolyn breathed, "it's been such a long day. Good way to wrap it up like this. Makes me want to take my shoes off."

"Why don't you?" Tony asked, grinning.

Carolyn almost nodded in kind, "You know? I think I will." Then she sat on a rock and pulled away her sensible shoes, neatly placing the pair, socks rolled into them, to her left. She wasn't prepared for what came next...

As she was leaning down she felt the pull and she was lifted up, barefoot, upon the boulder she had been sitting on and there was Tony looking up at her, with his arms around her middle. Carolyn Stoddard wasn't sure what to expect, except that she was very happy... right now...and pressed her lips against his to express it.

Their lips parted and he breathed, "I thought this might be the right time..."

"Oh?" Carolyn asked, "The right time for what?"

"It's why I wanted you above me," Tony said, reaching into the pocket of his trench coat. (No kneeling for this gentleman. Why have his trousers soaked in salt-water sand?)

"Oh..." Carolyn almost whimpered, "now? Tonight?"

Tony was facing down to make sure he was reaching for the right box in his pocket, "Of course, Carolyn, of course."

"Oh, no..." Carolyn hesitated, feeling she wasn't dressed for it, and Tony knew what she was thinking.

"Don't worry about those things, Carolyn... I think this was the right time and I think you look perfect just the way you are."

The box snapped open before her.

"I hope it's enough... to offer everything I have to give... you...Carolyn Stoddard."

There she stood, on top of that boulder, which could just have well have been on top of the world. The ocean waves lapped and crashed behind her sweetheart, and she stared down at the ring he was offering her along with his passion. Locked together in harmony and matrimony... but... what did that mean, exactly?

"Be my bride, Carolyn Stoddard," Tony begged, looking up at her from where he'd placed her on the rock, "please... be my bride..."

She looked down, as she would a million times again and again at that ring.

"Don't make me answer... just put it on."

He did.

"It's beautiful, Tony... and it's as special as we are..."

"Is that a yes?"

Carolyn gave a sad simper, "I don't think you understand..."

Tony was worried, "What is it, Carolyn? What could make you say no?"

She giggled and snickered and kissed him to which he responded in kind but with some confusion.

"Tony Peterson, I could *never* say no to you... but what I want to tell you is going to be very different ... to what... you might be expecting... now let us sit down together..."

Tony lifted her again and they sat upon the sands, the sunset turning red before their changing lives.

"Tony... is it possible I could wear this ring... forever?"

"Of course it is... I don't care what your answer will be, if you only wear it."

"That's what I was hoping, Tony... you see... "

The waves continued crashing and the gulls squawked...

"After everything... between me and Buzz... between Jason Mcguire and my mother... between her new fellow now... and between you and I..."

"What is it, Carolyn?"

Carolyn looked to the setting sun that was almost gone now, "I don't want to be married... ever..."

Tony listened and he didn't understand except to wonder why all of his yearning so seldom turned out to fit his desires.

"You'll never be mine, will you, Carolyn?" he asked, sorrowfully.

Carolyn twisted her new ring and smiled at him, "Of course, I will, Tony."

Tony's world suffered dreadfully in his lack of understanding.

"Carolyn... what can you mean?"

"I want to wear this ring forever... and be yours... forever... but I don't want to marry... do you understand?"

Tony's eyes brightened, "No, but I'm waiting for you to tell me."

She looked upon him and stroked his glossy dark hair, "With everything my mother has gone through, and what I've been through... well... it's just that... paperwork nonsense. You know? Can't we be happy and together without all of that?"

Tony Peterson reflected on this, at first believing he was receiving a refusal, but in all of his profession and the knowing what Carolyn meant in gruelling paperwork he became elated, stood up and lifted her upright and into his arms. Tony looked up at her and understood.

"I see," he said, " you don't want me... you want US."

"Yes, Tony... that's what I want... so... how about it?"

"How about what?"

Carolyn Stoddard simpered, "How about I wear this ring to my dying day... how about I'm yours forever without all that paperwork nonsense... how about us being engaged and that's as far as it goes?"

Tony Peterson smiled widely and kissed her passionately, then said, "Engaged? Forever? ... I'll take it."

And both Carolyn and Tony knew, that in all of their future, with whomever might voice that all they were doing were "shacking-up"... *they* knew better...

Tony held her up about her middle, her knees around his, and swung her around on the beach, kissing her intently. _It doesn't make any difference now,_ he thought, _this is what I want, this is what I have, and this is what always will be._

**"I Don't Want To Be A Bride"**

_I like your company_

_Got a fresh philosophy_

_Never knew_

_Such a gentleman_

_You can take me on a cheap vacation_

_I don't wanna have expectations 'cause you_

_Could be the end of me_

_And I don't need a house on a hill_

_A swing on a tree_

_Grandfather Clock_

_Porcelain for tea_

_A garden_

_With rose and Jasmine_

_Gonna get drunk on a bottle of wine_  
_No better way to pass the time_  
_Forever by your side_

_But I don't wanna be a bride_  
_Apologies to your mother_  
_I wanna be your girl_  
_And spend this life with you_  
_But I don't wanna wear white_  
_You know it's too late for that_  
_But can we keep the ever after?_  
_Oh could it be_

_Don't need no golden ring_  
_It'd be no match for the love it brings_  
_From London_  
_To Tennessee_  
_We could_  
_Catch a train to another life_  
_On a whim, under the moonlight_  
_I promise you_  
_Will you promise me?_

_Our last names on a wooden sign_  
_Arm in arm, where the river starts to wind_  
_Forever by your side_

_But I don't wanna be a bride_  
_Apologies to each other_  
_I wanna be your girl_  
_And spend this life with you_  
_But I don't wanna wear white_  
_Oh, you know it's too late for that_  
_But can we keep the ever after?_  
_Oh could it be_  
_Just you and me?_

_I, I, I_  
_We will live like kings_  
_Under lavender_  
_Skies_  
_Skies_  
_We will live like kings_  
_Under lavender_  
_Skies_  
_Skies_

_Built a poem, we kept a rhyme_  
_Wrapped our love in golden twine_  
_We wrote_  
_We wrote a legacy_  
_Just you and me_

_Just like kings under lavender_  
_Skies_  
_Skies_  
_We will_


	13. Chapter 13 (Mrs Muir is mentioned)

The Heart of Our Story

I'd been awaiting Barnabas with our friends, Wadsworth and Mr. Loomis, to bring in the adhesive to fix up things the children had destroyed in the lyncrusta when they flounced all over the house ages ago, as well as another furnishing I'd been longing for.

Jackie and I were contemplating what could be taking them so long as we stoked the fire and picked more logs to throw on.

"I really don't know what's come over Willem lately," she said.

"Hmm?" I asked, finally poking the fire so that the log would rest more easily between the two that were already eagerly aflame.

"He's incredibly attentive," she said, "it's like he just won't let me alone sometimes."

"Oh?" I asked, simpering, "and what's so terrible about that?"

"Well!" she almost exclaimed, "I don't mind so much except when *I'm* trying to tidy up in our room and then he just paws me like there's no tomorrow."

"Jackie," I sighed, "I can't see that is anything to complain about."

"No," she sighed in return, "I just wanted to discuss it and say so."

"I know what you mean," I laughed.

"I don't doubt it," she snickered, sitting down on the davenport, "that man of yours really is excessive."

"You have no idea," I said, "and I know I certainly am when it comes to that."

"Yes," she said, "you know Maggie, Willie likely has a crush on you still as well."

"I don't blame him," I joked, "*I* have a crush on me, too!"

"Josette Dupres!" she scoffed, "you make too much of yourself!"

"I hardly need to try, Jackie," I returned, "you know my history, however complicated it is."

"I have no doubts about that. I've worked in the medical field long enough to know there is more to heaven and earth and all that's in-between. Really, I've heard all kinds of things that happen when patients are… well… on their way out…"

"I know it," I told her, "I remember well enough!"

"Yes," she nodded, "I suppose you would… Did you know Carolyn is almost ready to release that book about ships she meant to do?"

I smiled, "I thought she might be. She and Mrs. Muir have really done a remarkable business there."

"They certainly have and of course, Victoria was helping out with that."

I paused and turned, crossing my legs and getting cozy in my husband's old reliable armchair, "I imagine she would. Uncle Caleb likely gave her plenty of information to help out."

Jackie snorted, "Why is that old ghost of his still haunting that place, Maggie?"

I knew what she meant. It was a little odd at first, but considering this estate and this town, we'd finally gotten used to how ghostly things really were. "It's in his contract. He should finally leave this mortal coil in a year," I answered, "Mind you, he and Victoria are hashing out a lot in that old house at Seaview. Vicky always loved history, you know. I'm glad to have someone else explaining it to her."

Jackie shifted uncertainly, "Why is that?"

"Well," I confessed, "as much as I'm happy to re-live old times upstairs, for the most part, I really love living now with all of the new conveniences… _not_ that we're going to have electricity here! No. I agree with Barnabas. Hot and cold running water is all well and good but as long as we're careful, fireplaces, lamplight and candles are all we're going to have in this house."

She smiled warmly at this, "You know I don't mind that? It really slows the pace for me. Besides… it is romantic and I know my Willie. He'll throw himself at me, but I won't let him burn the place down."

"Good to hear it," I responded, and then I heard some footsteps and the door open, "Oh, at last, they're here."

We both rose and proceeded into the foyer. There were our butler and Mr. Loomis carting in the credenza. It was a bit larger than I'd hoped, but I felt the dining room needed it. There was simply no other alternative to invite breakfast buffets than to have it. The two men set it close to the stairway.

And of course, there was my Barnabas stepping behind them, cane and all, in that manner of authority. I smirked, "Just won't lift a finger, will you?"

He balked, "My dear, Maggie. What end did you want me to lift? There are only two."

"You _know_ I'm teasing," I smiled.

"And I love it when you do." He smiled back.

Willie and Wadsworth harrumphed the furnishing down. Our butler turned with a heave of breath, "Madam… moiselle? Would you mind if I had a lie down?"

"What the hell does that mean anyway?" Willie asked.

"Willem," Jackie sighed, "it means the man wants to take a rest in a horizontal position. You're not that dense… I should know!"

Willie snickered, "I try and figure out what he says that way, sweetpea. It hardly ever works but I keep trying."

Our butler stepped away with a sense of gratified fatigue. At least he didn't knock himself into the coat hanger. That's been a troubling pratfall for our household lately.

Then there was the time when the parts of the staircase disappeared. Barnabas was irritated at first but I sat on the upper steps that were still intact and he stood his ground at the foot. We took a long hour awaiting the return of its otherworldly repair and musing on which departed relation was pulling this prank. As we kept each other company he began to look at the situation with whimsy, and appreciate the fact that it gave us time to reflect on memories we hadn't uncorked before.

As of right now the staircase was fine and our pair of love-bats went up the steps to enjoy some private time alone. I decided to try out the durability of the credenza by pulling myself up and sitting on it. My husband gave me a queer look that turned into a grin. I wanted to express that I was kicking the tires but I didn't bother just in case I had to explain what that meant… again.

He took my waist in his hands and began stroking my face with his own. I had a yearning to go upstairs too but then we overheard some laughter and decided to let Mr. Loomis and his sweetheart have the house to themselves, in so many words. Our butler likely was passed out and wouldn't be awoken by anything. I suggested we take a walk.

A few birds were tweeting in the woods as I shut the door behind us. It was a fine day. I took Barnabas by the arm and we strolled out toward the seaside. We would occasionally stop to take notice of the estate and all its properties from various distances. Perhaps there was still some melancholy splendour to it all but when I pointed this out he told me that Collinwood's charm, as a whole, still resided in the troubling factors of the gloomy burdens we had overcome.

"Still perhaps _have_ to overcome," I responded, lowering my arm and taking his hand.

"Why?" he asked.

We had stopped about a hundred yards from the cliffs nearby.

"All the suffering," I told him, "it can't simply be lost and forgotten, _mon_ _demón."_

"Never?" he asked, somewhat sadly.

"No," I answered, trying to give a knowing smile, "It's all what teaches us how to be better."

I pulled him along so we could continue toward the cliff. I wanted to see a full view of the ocean. I carried on with my explanation, "When we look into the history of then moving into now, we see examples…"

"Oh? What kind, my Josette?"

"All kinds… nothing simple, my love… The farther back in time we look, the more abusive troubles there are between both human beings and human souls… not only are these horrible conflicts tolerated, accepted as a daily fact, but also… well… approved of."

We both fell silent thinking this over and reaching a vast view of the seaside and the strait line of the horizon. Not one ship interrupted the scene which stretched across the Atlantic. I knew which direction to look for England, even if I couldn't see that far away. I'd been there before and perhaps one day would be there again, but not so much as Kitty Soames this time; more as my entire self now.

The eloquence of Barnabas Collins came back to him, "I see your meaning, Margar_ette_." Hmm… this was a new one. He took my name and emphasized the last syllable, creating for me a new combination of Maggie and Josette. How clever… and fitting. Too bad I hadn't come up with it first. Well, I thought, let him have the credit for that one. I shouldn't mind at all.

"And what is my meaning, _mon_ _demón_?"

"The view of the past, as Victoria has shown us, is littered with so much refuse so that we can look back and understand the misfortunes we've suffered… glean from that… possible mistakes not to repeat. All the books and records show how we've destroyed each other and tortured ourselves and perhaps with such evidence we can keep improving and learn to hold back from going down those roads again."

I sighed with contentment, also laced with some sorrow for all that had happened, "Yes, Barnabas, my one true love… yes, indeed."

"Perhaps we can barricade those roads so no others need go down them again."

I looked out to the sea in its own waves and mixture, its massive hold on the universal divine. I saw the plight of our existence there like so many creatures on this Earth; we were but one community in a collection of communities. Even the ocean had aspects of many within the one and the one among many.

"No," I told him, "no barricades, Barnabas. That isn't the point. What we need to do is to _see the view_, to know it. No one need go down those tragic roads fully, but they do need to see them to understand for generations to come. Misunderstandings and pain will always be a part of our lives, but working together life ought to become much less terrible for all of us someday."

He hummed, "You sound like that book Julia brought back from 1995."

I hummed my own low laugh in response, "Yes. I keep that last paragraph jotted down on a note in my pocket."

"Do you?" he asked, somewhat hopefully, "Won't you read it to me?"

"Of course," I said, finding the page I'd copied by hand and unfolding it.

"Above all we have been persuaded to think that it is unacceptable to be different or even to acknowledge that differences in abilities exist between us. But our survival may depend on the realization and expression of humanities immense diversity. Only if we use what may be the ultimate of the many axemaker's gifts—the coming information systems—to nurture this individual and cultural diversity, only if we celebrate our differences rather than suppressing them, will we stand a chance of harnessing the wealth of human talent that has been ignored for millennia and that is now eager, all around the world, for release."

.*.*.*.*.*.*

_Excerpt from final page of "The Axemaker's Gift" by James Burke and Robert Ornstein._


	14. Chapter 14: Why Wadsworth Understands

_An evening in which Wadsworth confesses to certain dark troubles he encountered before coming to work for Barnabas Collins, explaining why he understands his relationships with both Angelique Bouchard and Josette Dupres. Also delving into how he recognizes the difficulties of Collinwood in general._

* * *

Why Wadsworth Understands

* * *

One evening as my lovely bride was ascending the stairs, having kissed me goodnight, I was about to rest into my usual armchair before the fire and take a look into one of the many books I'd been aggrieved to miss over the centuries. I picked it up then put it down again as my ever faithful butler stepped into the room.

"Sir," he began, "I'm afraid the blood-pie experiment did not turn out so well."

I had to grin with some relief, "Ah, well. It was only a curiousity. Hardly my favourite dish in a bygone youth, my good man. What happened?"

"Mr. Loomis and I were reflecting on things and... well... got a little distracted. It is... rather _burnt_."

I tried to give a look toward him of his having been rather naughty, but he could see right through me, as he always does. He smiled back.

"It's good to know you and Willie get along so well."

"We've had a rather interesting acquaintance previously."

"I know," I told him, "and I was wondering a great deal about you as of late. If it wasn't for you, along with all of these strange events, I may never know the happiness I've so longed for. How is that you've come to understand us all so very well?"

His attentive stance relaxed and he placed his hands in his pockets , "The family history isn't as privatized as you all may like to speculate, Sir. I could read between the lines, and the gossip does flow rather easily here. It seemed to me you'd all been overwhelming yourselves with internal struggles. These would produce foul actions and more nightmarish displays of both vanity and revenge."

The silence at this point was so deafening that I almost didn't hear the crackling flames inside the hearth. He had hit the nail on the head again.

"Agreed," I finally said to him, "and how did you know how to accomplish what you've done?"

"I hardly did it alone, Sir. As I've explained to Mr. Loomis, can anything be accomplished by a single individual all alone?"

"No," I answered, "though there are many who have expected me to do such grand tasks."

"As our archivists know, Sir. Was that all?"

"No, Wadsworth," I answered, "I remember you mentioning an incident that happened to you many years before you came here. You'd fallen into some trouble of your own."

"Yes," he said, "I think you mean the incident in which I was blackmailed even earlier than before my... employment... at Hill House, so to speak."

"Yes. Did it not involve a previous lover?"

"No, Sir," he began carefully, "it involved a liaison I had in which I'd woken up from a heavy night of drink. Not usually my forte, but there was a rather great deal of social pressure to do so and a large number of people I was associating with at the time. I was given the impression that nothing untoward had occurred when I came to in another lady's bedroom the following morning. It was a large house and a large party. Anything may have happened that I wouldn't have been totally aware of the next day."

"And then you went home?" I asked.

"Yes. My wife had been on a visit and we shared our stories upon her return home. Quite a lovely time we had, she and I... Anyway, about ten months later I received an unfortunate letter. It was from the woman whose bed I'd lain in and had given me the impression I'd slept there alone."

"You hadn't, I gather."

"Not that she was telling me in this letter, Sir. No," he explained. "I began going into quite a lot of debt when I was sent the paperwork of my supposed son's birth. I wanted to do the honourable thing but..." he sighed, "I was against telling my wife until I could find some way to support my own dastardly behaviour, of which, try as I might, I had no memory of."

"That is excessively troubling," I sympathized, "and divorce being such a new concept to me I have a hard time imagining it. I would gather that you felt you ought to divorce your wife and marry this woman whose child you'd fathered."

Wadsworth took a deep breath and leaned against the doorframe, staring up, "As you remember the tale, I did make that attempt to offer such allegiance. Is it any wonder she wouldn't have me considering what happened?"

"I can't imagine. I confess to know little of these times I have missed sleeping so long in my ...en_chained_... state of existence."

"Of course, Sir," he reflected, rolling his head from the doorframe and looking in my direction, "It all rather changed quicker and quicker as time went on and still does. As you know, I wasn't going to wonder who this wee lad was and she refused to accept me for a visit. So I took the paper work and went to the hospital to perhaps find more details of my son's whereabouts. I arrived and was seen to fairly quickly considering how busy a hospital can get."

He looked down to the floor, and taking his hands out of his pockets folded his arms before carrying forward, his eyes becoming slightly glassy as though a mist was about to cloud.

"What did they tell you?" I asked.

He looked up with a sad resolution, "The paperwork had been forged. They had no record of such a birth and there were signatures on the document of his birth that were unknown names to them, as well as one that was familiar but obviously was not the doctor's handwriting," with this he paused to give a slight laugh, "it was too legible."

I hummed in commiseration over this sad joke in light of sour circumstances, "Did you ever discover why she had wanted the money from you?"

He did laugh a bit at this, "Oh, ha, the usual women's vanity. Clothing, furs, expensive jewellery. Material possessions that seem to give people the kind of comfort they can't take for granted when there are higher sources of joy in life, of course."

"I doubt I need to be told what those are," I expressed to my steadfast butler. Friendship, connection, the beauty of structure in both nature and by human design was what he meant. **Those things many take for granted, while others do not have them. **

"And so," he said, "when it comes to the incident with the young mistress Bouchard, I knew where you were coming from in some small regard. I was very grateful I could finally unburden myself to my wife about what had been happening. She knew me too well not to suspect something was bothering me, but I told her it was only a bad memory. When she heard the news she was very grateful that it had all been a petulant lie. And so was I."

"Still," I told him, "in comparison you hadn't been in that affair. Your conscience is much clearer than mine. I was guilty of my own passion as concerns Angelique Bouchard."

"Yes," said my good servant, "but for months... I believed I _had_ been as guilty and dishonourable. For months... to me... it was true."

I nodded in this sympathy we were now sharing, "I see. I suppose this sorry woman didn't return in any way what she'd taken from you?"

He scoffed, "Ah! I didn't care at that point. I was happy to be rid of the whole problem and never hear from her again, nor meet her in polite society. Although we can all wonder how polite that society truly is."

"So you knew of how I felt," I said, stepping closer to him, "but of Josette? How did you know how I felt about her?"

He finally smiled, "Ah, Sir... Hadn't I told you? Mr. Loomis knows the answer to this one. When we were being blackmailed into working for our employer for free? She ended her life. She was put into a position she couldn't handle anymore. Like many of your family, and like the bride you hold so dear. I understand loss, Sir. And I understand loneliness. And many of the ones around you, who adore you while also tormenting you into dire situations, do **not** understand these things."

"Well," I said, "perhaps in their own way they do understand. I have so much of what I was so desperate for. If I didn't have my family or friends such as yourself and Mr. Loomis, along with the woman I love and adore above all others; I think it would have been best if _I had_ jumped off of the cliff. Suicide is not a rare thought to some of us."

"No, Sir. It is not."

I heaved a sigh, "Still, it is nice to see such wonders I was beginning to lose hope for. Especially with Carolyn's new business, along with that of her friend. I know writing and description can be a very difficult endeavour."

Wadsworth straitened himself and stepped back toward the door he'd come out of, "Well that is the nice thing about the madam from Schooner Bay. She has her sales to keep her going and she also has words of comfort from her readers, which I think helps her more."

"Yes," I said, "I believe when it comes to storytelling, knowing the approval of your audience and how they enjoy one's work is perhaps the largest reason to the creator of it. Without that, why go on?"

A knowing smile came to his face.

"Very good, Sir," said Wadsworth. Then he bowed and stepped out.


End file.
